


Wait For It (Another Shot)

by flibbertygigget



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Gen, Kinda RPF, Reincarnation AU, ghost au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-22
Updated: 2015-11-22
Packaged: 2018-05-02 19:34:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5260967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flibbertygigget/pseuds/flibbertygigget
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If there was a reason why he lingered after his death, Aaron Burr was willing to wait for it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wait For It (Another Shot)

**Author's Note:**

> I promised something happy. This... is not it. (I promise I'm working on it.)
> 
> Information on the place portrayed can be found [ here ](http://www.hauntedhouses.com/states/pa/aaron_burr.htm).

He supposed it had only been logical to go there again, when both Heaven and Hell had closed their doors to him. He had fled there before, when New York and New Jersey were calling for his blood and the shock of the outcome had yet to go away. Much had changed over the centuries, but he stayed the same, haunting the same familiar staircase and corridor.

Whatever he had been sentenced here to do, Aaron Burr was willing to wait for it.

Once he had met another spirit, who had told him that there was a way out of limbo. One had to correct the mistakes made in life as atonement of one's sins. Burr had almost given up in despair. His mistake was long past fixing. Even if it hadn't been, both he and Hamilton had been stubborn and prideful. But Burr was nothing if not patient. He had been placed here for a reason, and he was willing to wait for a sign of salvation. 

One year the house was sold. Men tore out the walls and replaced the world. The entire house smelled of new wood and wet paint. Burr tripped one of the men on his way down the stairs.

Over time, he became accustomed to the new way of things. People passed through the house, staying only a night or two then fading without a trace as though they were the ghosts. Some broke the windows or swiped the soap, and Burr glared at them. Some laughed and admired the furnishings, and Burr begged them to stay. None of them ever stayed.

It was over 200 years after his death that his reckoning arrived. It had been a day like any other. Burr haf been snoozing at the top of the stairs when he heard him.

The voice was unmistakable. It had the same ebb and flow, the same manic energy that had so frustrated and intrigued him in life. Burr rushed to the railing, peering down to the floor below. Where was- There! His dark hair was tied back in that same careful ponytail, his eyes sparkled with that same enthusiasm, even his gestures as he orated to a helpless bystander were an exact match to the man from an era long gone.

Hamilton.

Every inch of Burr was on fire. He ached to run to the man, to set everything to rights, as though the belated guilt could change what had happened on that dueling ground. But instead Burr hung back, gazing at Hamilton as he began to ascend the stairs, suitcase in hand. As he passed Burr, the ghost reached out and allowed his had to skim along the hem of Hamilton's jacket. Hamilton paused and looked around, and for a moment Burr was frightened. What if Hamilton saw him? What would he say?

Hamilton shrugged and continued to his room. Burr trailed behind, desperately trying to figure out how he could contact Hamilton. His plans were unclear, he didn't know what he would say if given the chance, but Burr knew he had to repair what had been broken in his life.

Hamilton stayed for two nights, and then he began to pack. That was when Burr began to panic. Had he wasted his one shot at redemption? So many things had gone unsaid between them, and Burr still couldn't put half of the into words even if he could be heard.

You get nothing if you wait for it.

As Hamilton began to descend the stairs for the last time, Burr reached out and clutched the hem of his jacket. Then he began to speak, the unprepared words tumbling from his mouth like circus performers. Aaron Burr could only pray that the words could reach across spiritual plains to his friend, his rival, his final downfall.

* * *

Lin-Manuel Miranda froze when someone tugged at his jacket. There was no one else around, but he could faintly hear whispering nearby. He strained to hear, but he couldn't hear anything distinct. Eventually the words faded into oblivion.

 


End file.
